A silhouette steps out from beneath the shade of what appears to have once been a grocer, cocking his gun with a gloved hand. He looks nowhere in particular yet everywhere - anywhere but directly at you, seemingly avoiding your gaze. He is tense; sweat glistens on the exposed bridge of his nose. Only the wind occupies the noise space for what you assume is a few minutes. There's no sense of time in this place... "You're new," he says suddenly, finally glancing your way, though quickly has his focus back on his weapon, polishing the dirtied black metal with an even dirtier rag. "What do you want?" His probing is harsh, but understandably so, and you attempt to explain how you got here and why, at least the parts that aren't too blurry to recollect. He nods. Explanation accepted. "What are you waiting for?" he snaps, now a few extra feet ahead of you, "Keep up. I would if I were you, newbie." The last part sounds somewhat snarky, bothered, but you conclude he must be right: this place is not exactly the Utopia people used to preach about - quite the contrary.
Sand gathers between your naked toes. It is hot, hot as bloody hell. The sun is baking your exposed skin, and you seriously wonder how the other can stand being so utterly overdressed for this type of weather. You are just thankful your clothes are - albeit mysteriously - torn to shreds so it is easier for the wind to ventilate your body.
You have walked for miles, you think. At least for a few hours; the sun has moved since last. The surroundings have become less dominated by desert layout and more of a dead plains area. The dirt is light, dry and cracked as if the ground had opened up a million places at once, but you tell yourself that it is merely the effect of a drought-affected area like this.
Buildings appear far ahead in the horizon and you exhale jubilantly. Your guide scoffs and immediately leads the two of you off track from the upcoming village.

Feeling like a betrayed child, you cross your arms across your chest, but he does not react and continues walking, keeping you away from any presumably populated places at all costs.

The cooling evening has arrived and you have been led to your guide's residence. Not much to brag about: a run-down mill with three separate floors (though the wooden boards look awfully frail) made out of brick in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by absolutely nothing but thick, dirt-filled air and flat land as far as the eye reaches. He reassures you that this is good, just before he seats himself and starts fiddling with his gun again, and you notice how it is almost covered in vulgarly cheerful stickers. Probably the most colourful thing in miles. You stand in silence until he inquires about your actual purpose of being here. "I don't know," you say, still as confused as earlier. "You must know how you got here in the first place," he insists, but you shake your head, flustered. "I wish I knew, but I woke up like this. I'd wandered around some, trying to figure out where I was, just before I met you." You exhale, grasping your greasy hair. "Who are you anyway? You keep asking about me, but who are you?" He stares at you in silence for a good 30 seconds before putting down his weapon and adjusting himself in the lounger. "I'm the guy who saved your raggedy ass today, but you can call me Kashmir." He crosses his legs by the shins. You are unsure whether or not to be offended by his first statement, but he is probably right. You roll your eyes, leaning against the wall. "What did you save me from, huh?" He glances at his gun, then back at you. "Zombies." "... Zombies?" You laugh hysterically, sure you have tagged along with a total nut-case. "Seriously though, what?" He rises from his chair and walks closer to you, his face now mere inches from yours. You can't see much for his face is as obscured by dirty cloth as earlier. "You think I'm kidding, kid?" He nods in the direction of his gun and the many rolls of gauze he has in this not-so-quaint place of his. "I'm not kidding. But I could leave you to sleep on the plains on your own so you can experience it for yourself. As far as I know, they're getting hungry. We're close to their feeding time." He then walks back to his lounger and looks out a wrecked window behind it, and you observe as he observes, feeling less brave and bratty than before. "Zombies?" you manage, and he turns to you.

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